


terrorism

by kingozma



Category: Original Work, W@tchtower Grotto
Genre: Aftercare, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Grooming, M/M, Mental Coercion, Oppressor Guilt, Political tension, Revolution, Sexual Harassment Kind Of, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25138585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingozma/pseuds/kingozma
Summary: also done for a week's assignment for literature club! this assignment was "out of character", which explains itself - you pick a character of yours and write them acting unusually. the subject of this piece is ischel calgaround becoming less of a center-liberal douche, but in the worst most performative, aggressively fake-progressive way possible, at the expense of the viewpoint character, rabbi bimromav, who is actually part of the highlighted marginalized group.what is formatting[tw: verbal/emotional coercion, manipulation, guilt tripping, kind of sort of sexual harassment, and discussed fantasy antisemitism]
Kudos: 3





	terrorism

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It was relatively early in the morning when the honorable Rabbi Betzelel Bimromav (the trees and flowers bless his name) awoke in his lonely bed to the sound of a gentle knock at his door. There was nothing particularly suspicious about this, despite what you may think – usually, he happens to be up at this hour already, though! So, feeling a bit guilty for keeping a guest waiting, he pinned and wrapped his hair into place, pulling his bedrobes shut and tying a ribbon around his waist. It wasn’t particularly proper-looking, but it was the best he could do.

Opening his door and trying not to look rushed, the Rabbi adjusted his slightly cockeyed glasses and said, “Good morning… Oh, it’s you, haha!”

He was delighted to see the friendly neighborhood postman standing on his elevated porch and smiling back at him. And so he went on, “You know, I’ve told you many times that you can just leave my mail in the box down below…”

“Aw, I know,” said the postman, rubbing the back of his neck as he handed over a single letter and a small box. “But I… I dunno, I like making people’s days a little easier. When I think about everything you’ve done for us in the past few months, I just…”

The Rabbi flushed a bit as he saw the postman start to tear up on the spot. He couldn’t tell if he felt embarrassed or guilty, but he knew the tears were happy.

“Oh, come now…” He said, voice gentle and free of judgment or irritation, and he placed his hand on the postman’s shoulder, warm and firm… And he remembered his trials that have only ended recently. “It’s alright… Your troubles are over. Your daughter wouldn’t want to see her strong papa coming home with puffy eyes, would she?”

The postman’s daughter was direly ill, and while the Rabbi was no healer, miracle-worker of any kind, he managed to find the right combination of healers and miracle-workers in his corner of Mellifluora (as well as a few nearby villages) to keep that girl in this world until the winds and leaves and petals called her again… Hopefully that would not be until long after he and the postman died.

The gentle postman sniffled a bit, smiling and nodding. He then wrapped his arms around the Rabbi’s waist, hugging him tight for a few seconds, and letting go once the Rabbi was finished stroking through his hair.

“I’m surprised, so many countries in our worlds have gods leading them… You’re certain you aren’t really one in disguise? Or an angel of some kind?” The postman asked, starting to get himself back under control.

“Don’t be silly,” the Rabbi said with a carefree smile, “I don’t believe angels exist... Of course, your beliefs are your own, but I believe it is our job to be divinely kind to one another as best as we can, we can’t possibly leave it to the divine, or no one would be particularly kind at all.”

The postman nodded, seeming to understand. And with that, he offered a “Well… I’ll see you next week at the latest – enjoy the rest of your morning, alright?” and a nod, and headed down the ladder. The Rabbi grinned, waving farewell, and stepped back into his cottage.

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Left once more to his own devices, the Rabbi shook his hair out of its impromptu ponytail. He hadn’t really brushed his hair yet, so the messy style was pulling at his scalp in some spots…

Placing the letter on the counter in his kitchen, he gently swayed while slicing into the tape on the package. It was so small, he honestly wondered what it could have been – maybe a little knick-knack from one of his aunts? They send some painted animal figurines to him every so often, knowing he is very fond of them – particularly the little white rabbits that filled his childhood home.

Pulling the box the rest of the way open, what he saw was a knife. Pristine, meticulously shined and sharpened. Ornate gold patterns making up the handle, and gorgeous silver making up the blade… It reflected the Rabbi’s unamused, almost bored expression. As the box showed him no return address, he could only guess who it came from.

The Golden One? No. That would be silly. If the Golden One wanted to scare him and his family, he wouldn’t be passive-aggressive or afraid. It would be deeply calculated, every damned step of it, and no matter how strong the Rabbi seemed, it would work. It would scare him very much.

But this – this was just sort of funny. Someone really decided to send him a cryptic threat with no explanation, no proof that they could or would follow through on it. It was like a joke, the more the Rabbi thought about it. He rolled his eyes and graciously took the knife out of the box, rinsing it with a cloth in the sink, and he then put it in his utensil drawer. It would perform dutifully as a kitchen knife, and in the back of his mind, he thanked the coward behind this for such a useful gift.

And I suppose that would have been that, and he would have carried on with his day. Had he not read the letter that also happened to come that day.

The Rabbi sat primly at his kitchen table, pulling off his glasses and wiping them clean with the edge of his bedrobe. Regarding the envelope and noting its return address and sender, he once again rolled his eyes. _Ischel Calgaround_. The Rabbi tensed up and steeled himself for a moment, preparing for whatever he was about to read. He made a bet with himself – of course, now that he was ready for whatever mediocrity was spilled onto this page, somehow Calgaround would surprise him.

And then he stuck his finger under the gap between the flap and the envelope itself until it was open and pulled out the letter, unfolding it.

The letter read:

_**RABBI BIMROMAV,** _

_**WE NEED TO TALK. I WILL BE PAYING YOU A VISIT THIS WEEK.** _

_**BE READY FOR ME,** _

_**CHANCELLOR Ischel Calgaround** _

… Curious. The Rabbi didn’t remember Calgaround’s penmanship looking like this. Sure, it was messy – but it held the prideful mess of a doctor, or a teacher, someone of wisdom who wrote notes that only they could understand. But this wasn’t exactly such a far cry from Calgaround’s handwriting that the Rabbi suspected impersonation, either.

And of course, just as expected, he was quietly infuriated by the mediocrity of it. What did they need to talk about now? Had the dangerous romance Calgaround had been pursuing with tolerating the Golden One’s ideologies finally blown up in his face just like the Rabbi always knew it was? Did he only acknowledge it as truly evil now that it’s somehow harmed him and his people?

… The Rabbi was aware he tended to catastrophize and go into spirals of irritation or anxiety, but come on. He didn’t think this was an unreasonable way to feel, after the many times Calgaround had treated him like a wall to vent to, about the unbearable stress of “holding the world on his shoulders away from two extremes,” as he once said. The Rabbi knew that line never applied to him, but _sweet fuck_ did it make him angry every time he remembered it. What are two extremes when the ends of a spectrum are good and evil? Life and death?

Ugh. He had to stop thinking about this. He took off his glasses and began massaging the bridge of his nose – he was starting to work himself up into a headache, and if he wasn’t careful, it would get much worse. So for now, he folded the letter back up and put it back in its ripped envelope, and he stood up to grab himself a nice, ice-cold glass of water so he could continue getting ready for the day.

Perhaps the Rabbi would take a walk around the village garden to clear his mind. Yes… Just thinking about it made him feel better, and the newest political annoyance was already starting to slip from him.

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In a few days, the Rabbi had driven the letter’s annoyances from his mind, busying himself with his teenage daughter, with his people, with a dinner with the congregation this coming weekend, and everything was alright again. It seemed that this was a common occurrence in his life, constantly switching between distress and eustress – moreso than the average person, moreso than the average leader, but appropriately so for a truly great rabbi. Not that the humble Betzelel saw himself as one – he understood his place in Mellifluorish society as the closest thing his home had to a leader, but he was hesitant to think of himself in any grandiose way. He was no grand shepherd of his entire country, he was no magnificent king – he was simply a father to two children and the organizer of a community, one he was proud to serve mainly with input from his peers and his people. But nonetheless… He had the trappings of a great leader, for better or for worse.

Having run himself into a cozy tizzy over planning, delegating, decorating in preparation for the community dinner, the Rabbi had just gotten home. He felt glad and warm inside, greeted by the familiar sights of his home in the darkness of night, lit only by the moon at this moment. It often made him wonder if he should even light any of the lamps in his living room, if perhaps it would be a better idea to indulge in the comforting blue-blackness and hope to immediately fall sleep. He was ever so tired, after all.

But he decided against it. He thought he should have some tea and read for a brief while before turning in. The Rabbi was especially given to seeking out the company of fiction rather than immediately resigning to the comfortable, but somewhat lonely void of his queen-sized bed. He didn’t think he’d ever be ready to give up his marriage bed, even with his wife gone, seeing the world without him.

So he headed into his bedroom just long enough to set down his bags, let down his hair and slip into something more comfortable. Surrounded by the darkness, he yawned, but resolved to stay awake at least a half hour or so more, to put his busy mind to rest along with his weary body.

Soon enough, the Rabbi was settled feet-up into his favorite armchair, a warm cup of lavender tea on the side table with the lamp on it, and a hardcover, pocket-sized otherworld face-open in his lap. All he had to do was adjust his glasses a bit, and everything was perfect.

And so everything was perfect, for the next 20 minutes or so. Then, the Rabbi received a unexpected knock at the door.

For a moment, just a second, the Rabbi wondered if it was the postman. And then he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He really _was_ sleepy if that popped up in his mind. So he pushed the leg of his chair down as he stood up, stretching and yawning before crossing over to the door.

After all, messengers don’t ever visit at night—

When the Rabbi opened the door, what greeted him was the pale, dire face of Ischel Calgaround. Ah… It seemed his relaxing night in was to be interrupted. He managed a polite smile and began to speak.

“Ooh-! Excuse me,” he said warmly, covering another yawn behind his hand, “I, ah… Yes, you’d said in your letter that you would be visiting me. I suppose I just didn’t expect you this late.”

A hint of passive aggression? Perhaps, but oh, won’t you forgive him? That’s about as much as he can fight back against this irritating man. “Either way, here – come in, please! There’s a pot of tea I just made a short while ago, it’s lavender. Do you like lavender, Chancellor?”

“Oh, I do,” said Calgaround, seeming to loosen up just a bit already with a weak smile on his face. A hint of the light within. “But I rarely have it. Seems too indulgent, and there’s far too little time to indulge.”

Smiling, the Rabbi shot back with an almost flirtatious “Well, you’ve got nothing but time under my roof, so indulge all you’d like.” And once he’d poured Calgaround a cup, he left it on the countertop for the Chancellor to put wherever he wants, then sat back in his favorite chair, slipping a black bookmark back into his book. “Feel free to sit anywhere, my friend! The couch is comfortable, but I always like the armchairs, myself.”

Without a word, Calgaround sat on the floor. Right at the Rabbi’s feet, staring up at him. And then he began to fill the silence he’d opened.

“I have something of… Massive import – import that cannot be described with mere words, to discuss with you. Are you ready? Please—please.”

Suddenly filled with unease, the Rabbi nodded. He said, “Sure, I’m ready. Are you sure you don’t just want to sit on the couch? You don’t need t—”

Calgaround took both the Rabbi’s hands, almost reverentially for a moment… He examined them with narrow eyes, turning them this way and that, and the Rabbi let him despite his own nervousness.

“Your hands,” said Calgaround with an indescribable look in his eyes, “Oh… Oh, your hands… I have no doubt you could do it. Such strong hands, so powerful, yet so… Soft…”

The Rabbi decided to very promptly get this visit back on track, and he politely slipped his hands out of the Chancellor’s grasp. Or – or at least he tried to, Calgaround was holding on much harder than before. So he stammered out, still trying to be polite, “I, ah—Haha, what did you want to talk about with me again? You said it was very important, so let’s… Cover that first, shall we?”

It was then that Calgaround’s head snapped up at the Rabbi’s, suddenly – almost unnaturally – and with a glassy expression, he abruptly got back to his point.

“I assume you received my package as well. The knife.”

“Oh, that was you!” The Rabbi laughed again, increasingly anxious, “I thought that was some sort of – playground threat, but it was you. Very good.” He was trying not to panic, truth be told.

“A threat? Oh, heavens no. It was an offering, Rabbi. Or – an invitation. I am inviting you to take action with me.”

“To… Take action, mm?” The Rabbi began scanning the room with only his eyes, planning escape routes just in case. Almost paradoxically, what came out of his mouth next was something he genuinely believed, something he didn’t think would make Calgaround happy to hear. “That’s never been your style, I must say.”

But to the Rabbi’s surprise, Calgaround smiled.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve been… Insufferable to deal with, my dearest.”

(And then the Rabbi’s heart stopped for a moment, murmuring.)

The Chancellor went on, “I’m so sorry I’ve been so hesitant all this time, to take care of what really matters… I thought if I simply appealed to everyone enough, I could somehow convince everyone to put aside their differences and get along, but… That’s not quite how it works, is it?”

… Was the Rabbi hallucinating this? Ischel Calgaround, finally admitting that lukewarm centrism isn’t the way to prevent evil in this world from dominating good? He blinked, shaking his head quickly as if trying to shake himself out of this trance. But… It was real, and once he’d ascertained that, he responded.

“Well… No, it’s not. You’re right about that. But I must ask, ah… What exactly brought you to this conclusion? You’ve been quite set in your ways for a very long time, and I have tried everything I could think of to impart all this upon you. What changed?”

“Oh, it _was_ you,” said Calgaround, almost breathless. “It _was_ you. I’ve felt your earnestness all along, I’ve known about your suffering in dealing with me and the Golden One. It has weighed down on me with a heaviness I cannot name, and then it simply… Broke my back, so to speak.”

The Rabbi tried his best not to roll his eyes. Leave it to an onlooker to suffer less gracefully than the sufferer themselves.

“The way he speaks about you, Rabbi… It’s unacceptable. The way he talks about your people, it makes me sick. My whole stomach flips over and over again, I—I even became sick in his office, and one of his secretaries had to clean it up.”

At this, the Rabbi felt at least a twitch of sympathy. This was malignant empathy if he ever saw it, but he couldn’t deny that it made him sad to imagine his… “Friend” in such dire mental straits that his body was beginning to break under it all. Perhaps that was something wrong with the Rabbi, his heart was far too gentle at times.

Calgaround went on, seemingly oblivious to himself. “You’ve seen what he’s said to your face, at meetings, but you haven’t heard what he’s like when it’s just the two of us. It’s so much worse, Rabbi.”

“I… Can imagine,” said the Rabbi, bracing himself for some seriously disturbing things to be dropped at his feet much like a well-intentioned dog drops a dead bird, thinking it’s a present, thinking you _want_ the bird to die. Thinking you _want_ to talk about the impending doom of your people.

“He’s been making these _jokes_ , these—horrible, horrible jokes, about… Your people, oh gods, they’re all inside the building, and he tells his men to start—”

The Rabbi decided to immediately show his fangs, saying with a tight smile, “I know. I know what the jokes are about. I promise you, I’ve imagined everything you’re about to tell me, so you really don’t need to start.”

And Calgaround recognized this as a clear sign to back up, even in his questionable state, and he bowed his head. “I am so sorry,” he said.

Sighing, the Rabbi said, “It’s… It’s alright. But you know, this is more than a hypothetical horror story for me. For me, this is all… Frightfully real! And the least you can do is stop telling me every little detail of his hatred for me and my people simply for breathing. I don’t need to know! All I need to know is when you’re ready to take action to get him under control. So please… Your point?”

“Right, right – well, what did you think of my gift to you? Will you take my invitation?”

“I…” The Rabbi glanced back at the kitchen, towards the countertop drawers. “It makes… A fine knife for cutting dinner with. I don’t understand.”

Calgaround’s eyes glittered with a strange warmth.

“… Chancellor, I don’t understand,” said the Rabbi, starting to feel very afraid. “What are you suggesting?”

“I think you know better than anyone that he needs to be… Put down. So do all of his men,” said Calgaround. “I’m asking you to help me. You’ve put down threats to your people before, don’t think I don’t know what happened to those men who disappeared in Mellifluora last year. Don’t think I didn’t find out.”

The Rabbi had nothing to say, panic had gripped him so strongly. So Calgaround went on. “I am always watching you, Rabbi, you just… You are not watching me, haha. But that’s okay.” He placed his hands on the Rabbi’s knees, sitting up to stare into the Rabbi’s eyes. “Because I like to watch.”

Lips trembling, throat dry, the Rabbi knew he had to say something.

“Chancellor, I… I don’t know what to say. This isn’t… One can’t just…”

“One can’t just what…?” Calgaround tilted his head. “Why not? Wouldn’t it be easy, rushing through his home at night?”

“It most certainly—” The Rabbi laughed again, “It most certainly would _not_ be easy, Ischel Calgaround! We’d be killed instantly, and both our nations would have to pay the price! You want to talk about the Golden One looking for excuses to commit atrocities? This would be the best possible excuse to give him!”

“You… I thought you wanted to…”

“I want to get him under control, I want to speak at our meetings and be taken seriously! I want there to be restrictions, I want it to be impossible for him to organize, I… I-I don’t want to kill him myself!” The Rabbi couldn’t believe what he was saying, but there was a wide, manic smile on his face. Fingers running through his own hair, he went on, trying to process this feeling. “I don’t _want_ to watch the life drain from his eyes, Chancellor! I—I want to see him deposed and rot away in obscurity, where he can’t hurt anyone! Is that so strange of me?!”

It was then that Calgaround did something unthinkable – he grabbed the Rabbi by the collar, pulling him close so he had no choice but to give direct, uninterrupted eye contact.

And he said, “Betzelel. My dearest. I know, I know your heart is gentle, I know you wish for the best, but now is not the time to wish. You know it’s not. You know something has to be done.”

Meekly, the Rabbi responded, “I _know_ something has to be done, but does it have to be his blood on my hands personally? Why must I… Also take on the burden of his death?”

“What burden is it?” Calgaround asked, voice becoming low and sweet, “What burden is eradicating a threat to the peace of the world? What burden is… Glory?” His white gloved fingers began trailing down the Rabbi’s face, a thumb settling over the Rabbi’s bottom lip.

“… We’re never going to be free of this pain, are we?” Asked the Rabbi, now vulnerable, now unsure, now more afraid than ever before. “Even if we get the support of a military, how will we ever…”

And Calgaround smiled, gently touching his forehead to the Rabbi’s. “It isn’t pain,” he said. “It may feel that way at first, but… I am not afraid to perform a heroic deed. I am not afraid to guide the world out of the blistering sun and let your people rest for once. You aren’t afraid, are you?”

The Rabbi was shaking. But he shook his head. What he said was, “I… I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be afraid.”

“Of course not,” said Calgaround, starting to stroke the Rabbi’s hair. “I will protect you and your flock no matter what. No matter the cost, you will be safe, and you will be able to sleep unburdened for the rest of your life.”

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The Rabbi had wrapped his arms around himself, huddled up on the sofa he sat on now.

And a familiar face he’d met at meetings before, Desiderius Moonbrine of the Ocean Palace was gazing down at him, kindly. With hands on his hips.

“You seem to have made… A most horrifying decision,” he said, “But it’s one that your children will talk about for centuries. You are a hero… Though I’m curious why you don’t feel that way.” Desiderius settled down on the couch right beside the Rabbi, reaching out with a gentle hand – only to be coldly rejected. The Rabbi was done with gentle hands and words of praise.

“… I don’t feel like one because I feel used,” he said, “I don’t feel good about what’s happened. I know, I know it was the best thing to do in such a situation, I know everyone is much safer for it, and I will admit, when I think of never having to worry about his words or actions somewhere down the line… I smile. But… The Chancellor used me. He built me up and broke me down in the span of one night, and I acted not as myself. I acted as his puppet. That’s why I don’t know if I’ll feel glorious about this for quite a long time.”

Desiderius’ lips tightened. He felt like he was starting to understand the problem here… So he allowed the Rabbi his space.

“This was an unfair way to broach the topic, I think. He took out his years of guilt and insecurity on you, and suddenly made you go along with something quite drastic! Something that, yes, was absolutely the right thing to do… But Rabbi, wouldn’t you have liked someone to come with you with a kind solution? A discussion, a plan to stand against the Golden One – not… Such a manipulative tongue, not hands that hurt you if you don’t know where to begin.”

The Rabbi nodded, and he hid his face in his hands.

“I feel ashamed. I know I shouldn’t, but I feel ashamed of myself. Not for… Killing the old bastard, but for the way Ischel treated me. The way I didn’t just stop him, put my foot down and turn it into the discussion I needed. I’m a grown man, why couldn’t I just… Behave like one?”

“You’ve been desperate for so long,” said Desiderius, still minding the space between him and the Rabbi, “That… You felt like you had to take the solution you were given on his terms, not your own. Oh, but wouldn’t it have been nice if we’d visited you that night instead? The five of us, in the dead of night, sitting around by lamplight and discussing planned, organized revolution. Well – I suppose that would be called war, not revolution, but… What a fine thing to go to war for!”

The Rabbi winced at that, but he relaxed as Desi prattled on, so dreamily. “With trained soldiers, not just… The two of you making a gut decision and running the hell out of there, and having to evacuate your people, and begging the powers to help you… Oh, dear me, what a mess. This should have been easier for you, Rabbi. And I’m sorry we didn’t step in sooner. There… There’s no excuse for it, so I won’t make one up. But… For better or worse, the Golden Land is gone. And we were careful to distinguish the cultists from the civilians once you came to us, our spies worked quickly and efficiently on getting the children and circumstantial citizens out of there. We shed as little blood as we could, and that was because of your bravery, coming forward and asking for help! I suppose what I’m saying is… You are braver than you think! You are not weak or shameful, a weak and shameful man hurt you. And you and your family can stay with me for as long as you’d like, while we work on taking care of everyone else.”

… To this, the Rabbi didn’t know what else to say but “Thank you. You’re a kind man.”

All he wished was that it was Desiderius and his colleagues who came to him that night, so the choice would have felt like the desperately needed relief it was supposed to be… But for now, he wondered if maybe the day that he could heal would come sooner than he thought.


End file.
